


Artemis

by Lonelyracoon



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, N/A - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 15:13:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16746379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonelyracoon/pseuds/Lonelyracoon
Summary: Coming of Age. Friendships. Love. Heartaches.





	Artemis

Chapter 1: The Clock That Moved Backwards

My mom is so obsessed about sex. I don’t mean she’s a sex addict or anything. But I mean she thinks someone is going to snatch me and my sister any minute and turn us into sex slaves or something. Most of the times I just feel sorry for her for being constantly worried about everything. But it gets really annoying. Lately, she seems to be depressed at all the news about Judge Kavanaugh. While we’re eating our breakfast and she’s packing our lunches, she often listens to NPR. It can get pretty loud if it’s something she’s particularly interested in- Sometimes we have to tell her to turn it down. This morning, we told Dad about a YouTube video we saw- A woman falsely accusing someone of rape. Luckily, the CCTV caught her trying to seduce the guy. Mom got into a sudden fit about some lawyer claiming a person wearing a thong is asking for sex. Then she started telling us that rape is a rape as long as the girl told the guy to stop. It doesn’t matter if she had been flirting or was wearing sexy clothes. We know that, of course. Dad obviously tried to tread carefully and not say too much. We finished up our breakfast quickly because mom continued to talk about the “Me Too” movement and how important it’s for women to believe other women. We know that, too. But mom can be very naive at times. She trusts too easily. Dad jokes that mom is too gullible to realize if someone is pulling her legs. Anyways, it got too weird at the breakfast table. We left to go brush our teeth and pack our bags for school.

*

The night was unusually cool for summer. She loves her hair whipping around with the windows down. Some girls don’t want to mess up their hair. But that’s not her- If it weren’t dangerous, she’d stick her head out like dogs do. Some cheesy love songs were playing on the radio. She felt happy. Everything looked beautiful. She felt beautiful.  
“Why are you stopping the car?” she asked him.  
“I thought we could talk a little. Did you have fun tonight?” He pulled the car to the side of the road and looked at her. Oh, gosh. Here it comes, she thought. She knows what guys want. She knows she’s pretty. She squirmed a little in the seat.  
“Yeah, that clock that moved backwards was pretty cool.”  
“I knew you’d like that place.” He took her hand and casually placed it on his thigh as if her hand was too heavy to hold. 

Her mouth was dry. She didn’t want to kiss him. The truth was, she didn’t even think he was cute. She only agreed to go out with him because everyone else seemed to want it to happen. Even her parents kept saying that he’s a nice kid. She didn’t know him very well. He’s 2 years older and belonged to a different crowd. Her friends thought he was cute. He’s not ugly or anything. But she just didn’t find him attractive. Besides, he was a messy eater. That just won’t do. There’s not going to be another date. But she guessed a kiss was bound to happen. Fine. Whatever. He did go out of his way to plan a nice date.

The kiss was very wet. It wasn’t at all pleasant. It was her second time being kissed. Her first kiss was from a friend when she was only 13 years old. It was a Valentine’s Day Dance. She never thought of him as anything more than a friend. And he had pushed his tongue into her mouth while they danced. The boy she had crush on was watching from the bleacher. It was confusing and embarrassing. The incident was never mentioned again and the friendship ended. So, it’s been several years since that first kiss. It’s so disappointing, she thought. She pulled her hand away and looked out the window. Not wanting to seem rude, she wiped the wetness from her lips without him knowing.

“It’s getting late. Could you take me home?” She said, sweetly. She smiled for him.  
“I don’t think you know this, but I really like you. I’ve liked you for some time now.” He grabbed her shoulders. He was strong. That was another thing she didn’t like about him. He was a jock. She has always liked smart and clean boys. She has seen him getting sweaty. She knows that she’s being silly, but sweaty people made feel sick.  
“Umm. I like you, too. I had a good time tonight. But I really need to get home. My parents will be angry.” She didn’t know why she felt so panicky. His grips stayed firm. 

It was over quickly. She doesn’t know if it had been longer than 5 minutes or less. There wasn’t a lot of pain and only a little blood. She had thought it’d be like when she’s having her period. She was frustrated because her shirt was missing a button. She frantically searched but couldn’t find it. He kept apologizing about the button and she wanted to scream. They looked everywhere in the car but couldn’t find the stupid button. In the end, they just drove away. Where was that road? She didn’t even know where they had been parked. When she got home, she washed her underwear with cold water. The stubborn stain refused to come out. She threw it out along with the clothes she had on earlier. 

Next day, he showed up at the house with a box of red roses. She wouldn’t have opened the door. But her sister did. 13 years younger. So clueless. She stayed at the top of the stairs refusing to go down. Her mom was at the church with other moms. That’s how he knew he could come. His mom had been at the church, too. She doesn’t know why she started screaming at him. She didn’t scream like that in the car when he was holding her down. Perhaps she thought he might come upstairs and tried to do it again. “Get out! Get out! GET OUT!!!” Her screaming scared her sister. Instead of consoling her, the little girl disappeared and returned with candies. Her sister threw the candies at him and urged him to leave. His shoulders sagged. He laid the box of flowers on the floor. She continued to scream even after the door closed behind him.

*

Deep inside, I think my sister and I always knew something like that had happened to mom. When she told us, we weren’t at all surprised. Mom wasn’t hysterical or anything. She said that she remembers very little. She had tried to forget over the years. We asked her about the boy. He got a girl pregnant and the girl had to drop out of college to get married. When mom first heard about it, she followed the girl to the library bathroom. She asked the girl, “Did he rape you?” This might sound crazy to some people. But I love my mom for it. She’s like that- She says what’s on her mind even though it may seem inappropriate at times. Even if everyone said someone was a bitch, mom prefers to find out for herself. But don’t get me wrong. Mom isn’t a saint. She has mean streaks, too. She told me she had gotten into few fights when she was young. I mean real fights. She’s tiny. So, she’d pick up whatever was around and beat the person with it. You wouldn’t think that of her now. She’s so motherly. She’s been a Room Mom each year and throws the best parties. Lots of baked goods. I have a hard time imagining anyone raping mom because she’s so fierce. But my sister and I believe her, because she’s the most honest person we know.

 

Chapter 2: D.A.R.E.

My sister and I have a friend who is really pretty. Everyone wants to sit next to her- In the beginning of the Freshman year, we were a bit awkward about our new friendship. She was very nice to us but it was intimidating at the same time. For example, if I were to get up to get something and returned a minute later, there would already be someone sitting at my spot. Now that we’re Sophomores, we’re not as dorky about that kinds of stuff. I think my sister still gets jealous. But for me, It’s something else. It’s difficult to trust someone who is so pretty and nice. Hmm~ I guess I’m jealous too, if I’m really honest about it.

*

“Places everyone!”  
“Action. Go~”  
Actually, none of those things were said. It was quite ghetto. Several students were chosen to appear in a 30-second public service message about Just Say No. It was part of the “War on Drugs” program in the 80’s. She was an obvious choice because she was the only Asian kid. The only black hair amongst blonds, dirty blonds, strawberry blonds, and brunettes. The local sports star showed up after school with few camera crews. The students had learned the “Just Say No To Drug” song ahead of time. There were few moms to show their support. Mostly, they wanted to make sure their kids looked good. 

Although she took time to carefully select her outfits and braid her hair that morning, she was a mess by the time school ended. She had always been a bright kid. Smart, yes. But “bright” in the sense that she tries to be strong and positive. She shrugged it off and expertly rebraided her hair while leaning against the lockers. As the kids all stood by the various locations in the hallway, she became aware of her shabby clothes. In the silence, everyone looked at each. Her gaze fell on S. A white rabbit fur coat and matching white boots. She has never seen anything more beautiful. She wanted to touch the coat. If she had a coat like that, she’d sleep with it. Embrace it like it’s a Samoyed. It was the first time she was envious of anyone. No matter how crappy her life was, she had good friends and wonderful teachers who helped her overcome obstacles. But a coat like that requires money. More than that, it requires a mother who gives a damn. When the music started, she smiled big, too big, and did her parts. For many weeks, people told her that they saw her on TV. She saw it once, too. She looked hideous. Huge smile. Crazy two braids that bounced as she rocked her head side to side with the music. Other moms would’ve recorded the ad on their VHS tape. For her, it was something she wanted to laugh and cry. Forget. 

*

I can’t believe Grandma didn’t get her some new clothes! Our Grandma is the most stylish grandma around. Grandma we know would’ve gone overboard if we were going to be on TV. We would’ve showed up wearing fur coats.  
“Why didn’t she take you shopping?” I asked.  
“My mom was going through her depression. You know~”  
This “depression” means Grandma was drunk and/or suicidal. Grandma is very different now. A born again Christian. Naturally, Mom has a strange relationship with Grandma. Forgiven but not forgotten. Just under the surface, however, nothing is forgiven. 

“Mom, were you very jealous of S?” my sister asked.  
“Last year, she contacted me through Facebook. She said crazy things like how popular I was and everyone knew me. Well, everyone knew me because I was the only Asian kid. I told her I remember her white fur coat. The funny thing is that she said she wasn’t chosen to be on TV. She did wear the fur coat to audition, but she wasn’t one of the 12 that got picked. That’s strange… I remember her standing at the hallway like it was yesterday.”  
“Is she still pretty?” I asked.  
Mom showed the girl to us on Facebook. She was chubby and had two kids. Although she was the same age as our mom, she was already a grandma. Blond, with skin that looked like she had made one too many trips to the tanning salons. I could tell from her daughter that she used to be pretty. But our mom is much prettier. No one believes that mom is nearly 50 years old. 

“So, are you two friends now?”  
“No, I ignored her friend request. You know you shouldn’t friend just anyone, right?”  
My sister and I both rolled our eyes. We’re very careful about what we post online. In fact, mom is the one who posts our photos without our permission sometimes. I used to get really mad about it. Mom said that she gets jealous whenever she sees her friends posting photos with their kids. I thought about it and it’s true. We never did group “selfie” with mom. It’s not that I love mom less than those kids do. My sister and I are best friends. Sometimes, we forget about mom. I don’t know what came over me, but I let her take a photo of us. I don’t mean of me and my sister. Mom stretched out her hand and took a photo of me kissing her on the cheek. She didn’t look that great because she was smiling too big and her eyes were trying to look at me. Mom posted that photo regardless. With my permission.

 

Chapter 3: Pediatrician Office

My sister and I are getting a check up. Mom has brought some forms from school for the doctor to sign. We need forms to play sports. There’s also a form for EpiPens because we’re allergic to everything. Well, not everything. We’ve got an OK to eat shellfish as of few years ago. But we’re still allergic to nuts, especially my sister. 

“Why are we still coming here? Look around, mom. They’re all babies.” I complained. I’ve been trying to read something on my phone, but there were too many noisy babies. I looked over at my sister for support, but she was in her “zone.” She’s not hearing me or ignoring me at the moment.  
“I told you. My doctor said she won’t see you until you’re 18.” Mom explained. 

We were in the room for a long time in those ridiculous paper gown. We played so much that it was a real challenge to cover our privates by the time doctor showed up. Mom brought up our conversation to the doctor. I hate it when she mentions things to other people what we had said. It’s not funny for us when the adults are laughing it up; The doctor said that she has patients who are college students. Because the kids can’t afford a trip to the doctor or they’re just not responsible enough for such activities, the parents bring them to see the doctor. The Pediatrician is a good choice because she’d have the whole history. She talked about Friends episode where this grown guy goes to see his Pediatrician. We’ve never seen the shows, so no clue. Mom and the doctor laughed a lot about stuff I didn’t think was funny. 

*

It happened very fast. One minute she was accepting the challenge and the next minute she was sitting on the ground with her friends peering over her. A boy had jumped over the chain linked fence and dared if any girls can do the same. It was unforgivable. She couldn’t stand the sight of the boy’s smug look. The boys was only few inches taller. It looked easy enough. But when she did, she slipped and landed with one foot under the chain link. As she pulled her foot out, it started to bleed a lot. Two biggest boys helped her hobble along to the office. 

Her dad came to pick her up in 20 minutes. By then, she had washed her foot and dressed the wounds. The bleeding had stopped. The throbbing felt like heartbeats. Her dad was furious that the office hadn’t called the ambulance. She didn’t realize the wound was all that bad until she looked at it with her dad. Although she was in pain, she’d never admit it. 

“This is so embarrassing, Dad. I’m too old to be in a Children’s Hospital.” she whined.  
“What? You’re my child. Where do you want to go?” her dad asked without sarcasm. 

*

“How old were you, Mom?” I asked her.  
“Eighteen. I felt like an adult. But he called me a child. I guess I was… My dad owned his business. So, hospital and doctors’ visits weren’t done unless it was really necessary. He didn’t have nice insurance like we do now. No teeth cleaning twice a year for us back then.”

I touched mom’s scar on her ankle. It wasn’t ugly. I like touching it. If someone told me that I had to pick out my mom by touching her feet, I’d know her anywhere. She has tiny feet and a small scar that’s raised from the rest of the skin. I wonder if my mom and I would’ve been friends. She’s very different from me and my sister. I can’t imagine us doing anything dangerous. Mom said that’s not bravery. Her stupidity costed her dad a lot of money. Mom worried a lot about money when she was little. This makes me sad. Maybe I’m spoiled, but I don’t even know how much something costs. My parents didn’t buy bunch of useless crap nor did we ask for them. But if my sister and I mentioned wanting or needing something, it’d usually appear in few days. Sometimes, I wish I had known mom back then. She sounds pretty cool. I tell her that when I’m in good mood. 

Chapter 4: I Dreamed of You Two

When my sister and I were little, my mom often told us stories. Mostly are made up as she went along. Some we’ve already heard but changed each time she told it. But there are few stories that she repeated to us in the same ways. And we love them all. Especially the story about how we were born. 

* 

Once upon a time, there was a young woman who was very lonely. She was beautiful, so she always had young men around her making proposals. But she longed for real friendship. The other women didn’t understand her and felt threatened by her beauty. They gossiped about her and stayed away from her- Over the years, she stopped trying to make friends and kept to herself. The woman eventually married a nice man. But her loneliness still lingered. She often spent her time reading. Her favorite stories were mythology. She prayed everyday for best friends. She imagined them in her head of how her friends would look- And how happy they’d be to have best friends. One cold winter evening, as she dozed off in her chair, two babies emerged from her forehead. They were so tiny! She had to feed them with a little dropper as if they were hummingbirds. The babies were fragile but they soon grew up to be beautiful little girls. The woman was no longer lonely. Her days were filled with joy as she watched her daughters. She finally had two best friends. 

*

“Mom, what really are those two tiny dents on your forehead?” I asked mom.  
“They’re from when I had chickenpox. I had been home for several days when my mom got cabin fever. She had to get out of the house. She took me to her friend’s house who had several kids. I remember telling my mom, your grandma, that I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere until I was completely better. She said I only had two scabs on my forehead, so I can go play. She also told me that I shouldn’t tell my dad that we had left the house. She made me swear by bribing me with my favorite snack- a sausage that’s equivalent of beef jerky to you guys. When we got to the friend’s house, the kids were playing this game where you’d cover your eyes and try to catch other people from hearing only their clapping. I was really good at that game. The kids thought I was peeking out of the handkerchief that covered my eyes. So, the kids took turn tightening it. When I took the handkerchief off my face, the two scabs came off with it. So, I got these scars from that day. My dad was SO mad when he came home.” Mom laughed and wiped her eyes.

“Did Grandma get into trouble?” my sister asked mom.  
“Yes, they argued that night. My parents were very young when they had me. They loved each other but having a kid was hard on their marriage. I’d have a tummy ache and they end up fighting about the food I had eaten. I know they loved me, but it was hard to watch them fight so much. I think I was such a difficult child that they didn’t have another until 13 years later. By then, I was embarrassed to see my mom so big with pregnancy. I didn’t even know they still had sex.” At this, we all laughed. 

 

Chapter 5: Old People Have Sex, Too.

Sometimes, my sister and I ask mom about sex. She didn’t used to tell us anything because we were too young. Ever since she has told us about the rape, she has been very open to our questions. We usually ask when it’s late at night. Mom is not a night person. By the time we’re finished with the shower, mom is reading on the bed. We’d plop down next to her and hug. Mom loves that stuff. She does this little shake and yell out, “I’m trembling with joy!” She says the pig from Charlotte’s Web says it. We don’t remember because we don’t care for the book or the movie. Well, tonight, we asked mom how often she and Dad have sex.

“Sometimes once a week and sometimes a whole month. This is so embarrassing.” she confessed.  
“That’s not good, Mom. I read that you’re supposed to do it a lot more often. Do you know old people have sex, too?” said my sister. Then she started looking up an article and read off the statistics and other numbers relating to the old people having sex.  
“Mom’s not old.” I protested.  
“I know that- I mean like grandmas and grandpas are doing it. So, mom should, too.” my sister said.  
“Thank you, ladies. I’ll keep that in mind. It’s weird how you guys ignore me all day and suddenly want to have girl talks late at night. I guess you guys just don’t want to go study.” Wow! That’s true. My sister and I have tons to do but we just don’t want to do it. 

*

She was in the mood. But she didn’t know how to tell him. It’s not because she doesn’t think a woman should approach the man. She doesn’t care about that- She asked guys out on a date if she were interested in the boy. She didn’t even mind paying for dinners while dating. But sex is a different matter. She loves him very much. And she has zero doubt that he worships her. The fucking rape ruins everything good. She feels embarrassed to initiate sex. What if he wonders if she had lied about the rape? What if he thinks she was probably flirting with the boy and made it happen? But it’s not just that- Even while all is good and they’re hot and heavy, she suddenly loses her interest in sex. She’d remember something about that night. Her husband might grab her wrists or kisses a little too rough, and then, she’d freeze with fear. He’d say something sexy and she’d remember something the boy might have said that unfortunate night. It’s so unfair. It happened so long ago but it’s still punishing her. Her husband, too. So, she falls asleep frustrated. And he’s clueless.

*

“In the book,’I crawled through it,’ there’s a mom who is a town’s dominatrix.” I told mom.  
“Yeah, it’s hilarious because she puts her work related stuff in the dishwasher.” my sister added.  
“What the heck are you guys reading? You better not be reading stuff you shouldn’t be.” mom said but she doesn’t seem all that serious.  
“I really like the book. I could’ve chosen books like “Bell Jar’ or “The Catcher in the Rye’ to write a paper. But I wanted to do something different.” I explained.  
“Do you recommend it?” I like that about mom. She truly loves books. She can read The Giving Tree and cry her eyes out as if she were reading The Wuthering Heights. Whenever my sister and I write short stories or poems, she’d read them again and again. She tells me that I should become a writer. She says the same thing to my sister. I wonder if it means my sister and I are both good writers or she’s just being a mom. I don’t know.


End file.
